


Caerwent

by Quillori



Category: Yonec - Marie de France
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:18:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillori/pseuds/Quillori





	Caerwent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sister_coyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_coyote/gifts).



**The Husband's Sister**

In youth she was a beautiful woman, not noble, but fair and rich. One April, amidst a chorus of birds, she was wed to a handsome knight, and she took pleasure in his love. Well she loved the Lord our God, and often she thanked him that she had been married to the man of her choice. But time brings change to all things, and steals the beauty from the rose. The handsome knight, grown old and weak, choked at last on his own spleen and fell victim to death. The lady, beautiful as a sunrise in spring, grew old and was no longer desired by men; yet still the Church remained for her, promising eternity for the devout. Her brother, too, the last remainder of those who remembered her in the days of her youth, still loved her greatly and trusted in her wisdom. When he, belatedly, turned to the things of the flesh and desired an heir, it was to her judgement and protection he consigned his fickle young bride. Thus it was that she, who had been the flower of women, became in time a jailer, locking her brother's fair wife from the friendship of her fellows and the admiring eyes of men.

 **The Tower**

Stout it was and solidly built, that tower to which he brought his noble bride. The new rushes were sweet upon the floor, and upon them were scattered flowers thick as an Orient carpet. Over the bed was thrown a rich brocade, and the bedchamber glowed warm with candlelight. Nothing was in the chamber that was not precious, befitting its occupant, and the fine needlework of the coverlet and the sheets was a marvel. Nowhere could have been found a bed or a chamber more suited to the marriage of so beautiful a lady. The walls were thick and solid, stone cool even in the summer heat, and the tower's defences were sure. From the narrow windows, the gardens could be seen, stretching away down to the river. No colour of flower was absent, and no songbird failed to sing, their sweet chorus echoing round the spacious marriage room. Only the groom, grown already old with the passage of years, did not befit the fresh beauty of bride and garden; all else was young and fair. Only the passing years, which had already stolen his youthful strength and comeliness, transformed the fair tower to a gloomy prison.

 **The Wife**

Beautiful she was, and young, noble and courtly by birth, rich also in virtue. On the day of her marriage, she rose from her maiden bed, hopeful of a happy future. Her step was light and light her glance, walking forth to greet her husband in the full beauty and splendour of her youth. Yet soon she found her family had sold her to an old and feeble man, and she knew no joy in her marriage. Year followed year, and despair succeeded on hope, leaching away her pleasure and her beauty.

 **The Lover**

Handsome of mien, by the account of all who saw him, and valiant at arms, the knight strode forth from his palace, the finest and most admirable of men. Nowhere was a man to compare to him, in courtliness or looks or feats of arms. Yet longing had seized his heart, piercing him like an iron spike. Not his bed, solid gold and made up with strange and richly woven cloth, not his fair palace, nor yet his keep and town, wealthy with the ceaseless trade from far flung lands, could pin him to his human self, confining him to the ordinary cares of men. He longed for nothing, desired nothing, but to fly to his mistress and give himself over to her service, answering her longing with his own.

 **The Lover**

Riding the air, circling and turning, hawk of the tower, diving deeply toward the distant ground below, he flew on tireless wings, playing with the wind and free from the confines of earth. There before him stood at last his target, the narrow grate in the stone walls that permitted entry to the chamber of his beloved. There only could he at last divest himself of his changed, slight body, growing in weight and size to stand once again solid on the solid stone flagged floor. Bird to man and man to bird, what further trick to turn also man to woman or faerie to Christian, swallowing the host as a hawk might swallow a vole?

 **The Wife**

Her loveliness lost through long years of sorrow, misery her steady friend and only companion, now at last she found her mate, beauty and happiness alike returning with a single wish. All she had before despaired to evade, her friendless, lonely days; the thick, strong walls that bound her in; the empty hours all alone, husband and jailer alike away – all these by sudden alchemy were joy, a secret pleasure secured from jealous eyes.

 **The Tower**

So strong it stood, that tower, stone to withstand the onslaught even of Time: what jail could have been more inviolate, what walls more insensible to pity and distress? Yet now, in the briefest instant, all stands transformed: the prison a paradise, strong not to restrain but to keep out unwanted, prying sinners, keen to besmirch the holy beauty of that true love.

 **The Husband**

Every day he burned with jealous fire, longing to consume his bride as utterly as love for her had consumed him. Where might she go? Who might she see? Who did she meet in dreams, or long for in half-heard sighs? Too old to match her youth, too weak with years to hold her fancy, he yet had strength to wish for that he could no longer have. Only after years had passed, when his fair wife quickened at last with child, did he find peace, trusting at last in her love and content she should have a freedom he no longer believed she desired.

 **The Lover**

Man and bird alike dissolved in blood, melting away from form and substance: over the hills, the meadows sweet with new grass, every wing beat heavy now with impending death; through the silver gatehouse and past the port, footsteps dragging weary and slow, strength ebbing with his heart's blood, he staggered home - he who had left a man, valiant and strong, who had been a hawk, fierce in his freedom, now returned staggering to his bed, a walking corpse, soon to give all his youth to death.

 **The Wife**

Resigned these long years since to time, a patient mother and a patient wife, her fancy long since dead and all her hopes, she came again at last to that rich and silver city, to the tomb in which her lover lay. Her years seemed then a weary task, eagerly to be laid aside, the bounds of duty dissolving with her tears. Who was it fell on that cold tomb, lit by the guttering candles? Was she the fair young bride, gowned in April splendour? Or was it some much older woman, long since free of love and longing, mother, nurse and wife? Or, years before, some curious child, quick and light, still free to fly on fancy's wing, unburdened by an adult's knowledge? All she was and might have been lay there at last, cold and dead, the final spark of life snuffed out.

 **The Son**

The boy, loving son and thoughtless dreamer, the only joy of his mother's life, the only prop of his father's age, wanderer between the faerie realms and mortal lands, all ignorant of the blood and death from which he came, stood there aghast before his father's tomb, his mother's corpse. There stood his aged father, who had years since played cradle games with him, who loved him with fierce pride, changed now to some unwanted stranger, murderer of his closest kin. There lay his mother, that warm presence that now abandoned him to seek some other love. There lay, entombed, a father he must avenge against the father of his heart; but then, the hawk's heart is not a man's, and knows nothing of filial love – only men can weep.


End file.
